Hallelujah
by Bringer of Doom
Summary: A family can tear itself apart for more than one reason. The Stryker family, written for Northlight.


Disclaimer: I don't own the X-Men, and the only characters I own are Jason's sister and his friend. All the rest belong to Marvel and FOX.

Warnings for: disturbing images and scenes, mild swearing, and implications of sex.

Thanks to Jenavira for the quick beta.

Hallelujah

_Jason's a good kid. He pays attention in school (according to his teachers), feeds and walks the dogs, and takes care of his sister when she's ill. He's not like the other boys; he's special, in a way that's hard to place. _

_He's fourteen now. Anxious to get his drivers' permit. His father, William, is also ready for Jason to learn how to drive. Means he's got more freedom. He's growing up. Becoming an adult. A man. Ready to face anything that comes his way._

_Oh Lord, I'm crying. Again. William won't be happy if he sees me like this. I'm just not ready for my baby to grow up and leave, not just yet._

"Mom?" There's a knock at Miriam's bedroom door. She hurriedly shoves her flower-print diary under her pillow and dabs at her eyes with a tissue.

"Yes, darling. Come on in." The dark oak door opens, revealing the handsome, smiling face of a boy not quite unused to hardships and struggle. Jason's smile droops into a frown when he catches sight of his mother's visage, marred by salty tears and a red nose.

"Are you okay?" Jason climbs atop her bed to wrap his arms about her in a tight hug, just like he used to when he was little, and his tiny fingers couldn't even meet around her waist. Miriam's voice catches in her throat, and she hugs him back.

"I'm fine, sweety. Just fine. Mom's just had a trying day. How's your sister?"

Jason gives her a sidelong glance, frowning slightly, as if he knows she's lying to him. But soon, he tries a tentative smile, and some of the sunlights seems to pour back into the dimly lit room. "Rissa's doing better. Some color's back in her face, and she said she wants to go to school tomorrow."

"Jason," his mother starts, "are you sure that's such a good idea? She was sick for so long, and even though Larissa doesn't really seem contagious--"

"If she was contagious, one of us would have gotten it by now, right? If we could just go to a doctor..." He trails off and lets out a breath through his teeth. It can get so frustrating sometimes.

Miriam looks down at her folded hands, so thin and pale they seem almost to disappear into the bedsheets.

"You know how your father feels about...doctors, Jason." She almost whispers the last words, soft as a ghost, as if just mentioning anyone in the medical field would bring William storming into the room in a fit of rage.

Her husband had suffered an explosion during Vietnam; it had missed him completely, but the blast had left burning ashes in his left eye. The medical team couldn't do anything but remove the ashes and perform a minor, hopeless surgery. William's nearly entirely blind in that eye now, and he wears glasses in a half-hearted attempt to be able to compensate for his lost sight. He claims he can see better now, clearer; still he avoids doctors at any and all costs. He silently (and sometimes, not so silently) blames them for the darkness and empty space he constantly sees. Miriam once suggested that he see a psychologist, that perhaps some of it was just in his head, that maybe he just need some outside advice. William flat-out refused then, and he won't see doctors, of any field, still today.

And Miriam agrees with her son; if Larissa doesn't get help soon, her health may start to deteriorate again, and more rapidly. They'd be helpless to do anything useful for her, and Miriam just knows she wouldn't be able to live without her daughter. And her son is so attached to his baby sister; Miriam has no idea how he would react if she left this world. The only thing she knows for certain is that he wouldn't respond well to the situation. As well as he could adapt to new situations, Jason...no. He wouldn't be able to cope. The entire family would fall apart. She knows that, they all know it, and so Miriam and Jason will do whatever they can to keep Larissa alive and healthy and happy, whether William agrees with it or not.

Larissa's been back at school for a week now, and the nurse hasn't called to say anything serious has happened. Yet. Still, this gives Miriam hope, as thirteen-year-old Larissa only had to lie down in the office once this week, and it was only for a mild headache and stomach ache. Miriam is sure now that Larissa's illness was just a passing thing, a particularly nasty bout of flu that had overstayed its visit.

Still, Miriam is glad it's finally over, and her family can get back to the way life used to be. Miriam would wake up at five every morning, start a hearty breakfast for four of scrambled eggs, bacon, and an assortment of fruits and cheeses. And the four of them would eat their meal together, as a happy little family, in their cheery yellow striped, country-styled kitchen. She would see her children off to school, kiss her husband goodbye before he left for work, and continue her daily job as a standard suburban housewife.

Just like she's doing now.

Miriam smiles and hums to herself while she dusts beneath the little china dolls on the wooden mantle, the ones William bought her while on a business trip once. Miriam wants to travel someday, to Europe, and all the rest of the world.

Someday.

She was planning on hitchhiking from Ireland to Russia, right after college, with three or four of her friends. But that's when the baby came along. Her friends had teased her endlessly for ages, because William was somewhere around seven years older than her. She wasn't sure at the time. They got married in her second month, before she started to show too much, and were really quite happy. Happy, that is, until Miriam gave birth on the twelfth of October. She tried to hold back the tears as she watched the doctors hurriedly carry away her newborn son, Charlie, all wrapped up tight in a blanket. She never even got to see his face. William hadn't been there; he'd been at a local pub. Said he didn't like the stress of that sort of thing, and that the screaming reminded him of the War. He grudgingly agreed to come to the hospital after the delivery to see his son, and he got there just in time to see his new baby taken away forever, and his wife on the verge of tears...

Miriam doesn't think he's ever really forgiven her, even though he comforted her and reassured her it wasn't her fault. But she knew. She knew because they stopped trying for the next nine years. They'd stopped having sex almost completely. On the rare occasion that they did make love, he would barely touch her, like he was so disappointed in her that she disgusted him. Like he would give his heart and soul to be with someone, anyone, but her.

But, no.

Those days are past. Long past. With the surprise arrival of Jason almost fifteen years ago, William was thrilled. He always seemed to treat Jason as his favorite, even though Miriam tried to get him to pay more attention to their second (well, third) child, Larissa.

When Larissa got sick, Miriam...well, she was very worried. William, on the other hand, went on with his life as normal. Miriam got angry with him a few times, hit him (without much effect) a few times in the bedroom. William took it silently, but never really tried to take extra care of his daughter.

And Miriam hasn't forgotten.

Not by a long shot. She still gives him a hard stare when he comes into the house every night, and he ignores it, and asks what's for dinner. She tells him through bared teeth, and he goes up to his room to clean up.

_But it's getting better_, she tells herself, _Larissa's getting better. It'll all get better soon_.

Miriam places the china dolls back on the mantle, nods to herself, and feels quite accomplished with what she's gotten done for the day.

The doorbell rings, announcing the arrival of her son and daughter, home from school, and the door creaks open. Miriam walks over and gives them both a warm embrace, then pulls back as she sees the look on Jason's face.

"Honey? What's wrong?" Miriam looks concernedly from her son to her daughter, wondering what could be causing such a discomfiture in her children.

Larissa shifts her weight back and forth on her feet, and looks embarrassed and worried. She glances at her brother in a _don't tell or I'll kill you_ sort of way, and Miriam catches it.

Miriam puts a hand on her daughter's shoulder, and Larissa flinches back as if she was burned. Miriam furrows her brow.

"What exactly is going on, Larissa? Jason?"

Jason bites his lip, and looks down as he starts to speak.

"Rissa had a bad day, Mom." That's all he'll say, and it doesn't help Miriam much at all.

"What sort of a bad day?"

Jason turns to his sister. "Rissa--"

"No." Larissa crosses her arms stubbornly.

"Rissa, please, it's not that awful."

"Yeah, it is."

Jason's voice is firm and commanding now, like his father when he won't stand for something. "Rissa, turn around."

Larissa relents, and turns so her back is facing her mother. Jason gently lifts up Larissa's hair from the nape of her neck, and the first thing Miriam notices is that Jason's hands are shaking. _But why--_ Miriam stops her train of thought as she understands why her children were so fidgety.

"Oh my Lord." Miriam's hand comes up to her mouth in surprise. "What happened? It's the middle of winter."

"I know." Larissa's neck is covered in blisters and red sores, like a sunburn gone out of control, or an acid burn. But that's impossible. Both of those are impossible. It the _middle of winter_. And the sun isn't that strong in New Jersey. And it's cloudy outside. How in the world did Larissa come to have such a thing on her skin?

Jason places her hair back in place, just as carefully as he had lifted it. Larissa winces, though Miriam can't see it. "Mom, she was just outside for a minute, just for a minute, and only when we were getting onto the bus. She wasn't outside long enough to get pink, never mind something like this."

Larissa turns around to face her mother. "What's wrong with me, Mom? Why is this happening to me?" There are tears in her eyes, and worse, fear. It tears apart Miriam's heart, and she reaches out to her daughter and hugs her, rubbing her back soothingly.

"We'll find out. Don't worry, baby, we'll find out what's wrong."

Once the children are in their rooms, Larissa tucked into bed after a warm bath with ointment, and Jason sitting at his desk, working on his physics homework, Miriam checks her watch.

10:15. Her husband still hasn't called. Miriam doesn't think he will, and he probably won't be home for days, so she picks up the phone and dials the Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital of New Jersey.

"Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, I'm Stacy, how can I help you?"

"Yes, this is Miriam Stryker. I'd like to schedule an appointment for my little girl, Larissa."

"All right, Ms. Stryker, when would you like an appointment, and what's wrong with your daughter?"

"Well, I'm not sure what's wrong. She has a lot of really strange symptoms. Could we come in tomorrow morning?"

"Does 11:30 work for you?"

"Yes, that'll be just fine. Thank you."

Miriam hangs up, and turns out the light on her bedside table. They'll figure out what's going on, and Miriam will make sure William doesn't know about it.

"Rissa, put on your seat belt."

"I don't wanna." Larissa sticks her tongue out at her brother.

"Would you prefer dying over finding out why you're sick?"

There is a pause.

"Okay, stupid question. But put it on anyway."

Miriam adjusts her rear view mirror as she pulls out of the driveway. She ignores the bickering in the back seat, but secretly smiles to herself. It's been ages since the kids have had a good chatter, just to annoy each other, but it's comforting, in a reminiscent sort of way.

Miriam tosses her purse onto the couch as Jason storms up to his room and Larissa mutters to herself, "how couldn't they have found anything?"

Miriam wonders this herself, as Larissa's symptoms haven't cleared up any, and she now can't go outside at all without risking serious burns and skin damage. She sneaks a glance Larissa's way, and notes that her skin is indeed quite pinker than it was when they left for the hospital.

The hospital that didn't find anything wrong with her.

They stayed at Princeton-Plainsboro for two weeks, where they ran endless tests and procedures to try and figure out what was making Larissa so ill, but it was all in vain. They said other than the nausea and sunburns, she was completely healthy.

Which just didn't make sense, because Larissa was clearly _not_ healthy. Halfway through the visit, Larissa started complaining of back pain, which the doctors said was just from lying down too much, and it would go away if she walked around a bit.

The back pain didn't leave.

Still, the doctors gave Larissa a clean bill of health, and sent her on her merry way today, much to the disdain of her mother.

Miriam sits down and runs a hand through her uncombed hair, her hands getting caught in the knots and tangles. She doesn't bother to brush her hair. She just prefers to sit here, and let it all sink in. It can't be psychological, can it? She thinks about this possibility for a while, then shakes her head as the sound of rock music sinks through the ceiling from Jason's room. No, it's been going on for too long, and it just seems too _real_ to be psychological. She can just tell. She's a mother. She'd know if Larissa needed mental help.

Miriam shudders, and heads up to her room as the front door opens, revealing a cold, wet, and rather agitated William.

"So, you've seen that new girl, right? That...Anna Harris?" Jason lifts his head from his lunch at the sound of his friend Chris' voice. He turns around slightly in his seat, catching a glimpse of a pretty brunette, flipping her hair and laughing with some friends.

"Now I have." He looks back to his lunch.

"Aw, come on, Jason. You have to admit she's pretty hot." There's some general agreement around the table at this comment.

"Sure, whatever."

"Something up, Jason?" Asks Lauren Anderson, dropping her tray casually onto the table and sitting down next to Chris. "You seem tired."

"Nah. Just stressed. Exams and stuff." Jason hates lying to Lauren, mainly because she always knows when he isn't telling the truth. She looks at him with a critical eye, and he knows she'll be coming after him later. That's what he gets for being friends with an aspiring psychologist.

The day continues on in a fairly boring fashion, except for in Anatomy/Physiology, when he gets to study abnormal cell growth and mutations in humans and animals. Jason's always found that sort of thing fascinating.

Lauren stops him outside of the school building after his last class, and asks him to sit down under one of the bare trees, even though it's freezing outside. They sit down on the fresh quilt of snow, and Jason knows he'll probably regret this later, and his mom will likely chew him out for getting his jeans wet. But he also knows Lauren won't let him get away this time.

He hates talking about his feelings.

"So, what is it, really?" Lauren crosses her legs as she sits on her coat.

Great. Shrink time. Jason decides to play dumb.

"What is what, really?"

Lauren sighs. "Don't do this, Jason. You've been acting weird all of this past month."

"How so?"

"Closing yourself up won't help."

"Sure it will."

He sees Lauren clench and unclench a fist, out of the corner of his eye.

"Jason, someday all of your anger and fear will boil over, and there won't be anyone left to you help you overcome it, because you'll have made them all run away."

"Really? Being alone. Doesn't sound too bad right about now."

Suddenly there's a sharp pain on his right cheek.

"Hey! What was that for?"

"Being a stubborn ass."

Jason blinks and touches his cheek gently. He winces.

"Okay, I'll give you that much."

"I'll do it again if you don't tell me what's wrong." Lauren waves a threatening hand through the air.

"That's just the problem. We don't _know _just what's wrong."

"We?"

"Rissa, really. She's been sick."

Lauren furrows her brow in concern. "She never got over that flu?"

"No. In fact, it got worse. And the doctors say there's virtually nothing wrong with her."

"Huh." Lauren just sits there for a while, looking thoughtful. Then she smiles, a thing he doesn't often see on her face, but it makes the world seem just a little bit better.

"Well, it'll all work out, I'm sure." She puts her hand over his.

And his mind fills with all sorts of memories, things that he had long ago discarded as being insignificant, but here they are, and they seem very real now.

_Larissa walking into the kitchen, asking their mom where she had put her backpack, even when her shoulders are sagging from the weight of it on her own back._

_Larissa typing rapidly on the computer, a normal sound that Jason hears from his room, typing that usually goes on for minutes, even hours on end. But Larissa only types for about thirty seconds when the sound stops abruptly, and he hears a little groan escape her lips. There's silence for a few seconds, then the sounds of keys being hit starts up again._

_Larissa getting pink while sitting in the living room, watching television._

_Larissa sitting at the dining room table, tapping her plate with her fork. Incessantly. Jason asks her, irritated, to stop. Larissa claims she wasn't doing anything._

_Larissa taking up time in the bathroom every hour. Father says it's a girl thing. It still irritates Jason._

Lauren jerks her hand back. Blinks a few times. Looks down at her hand, then back up at Jason.

Jason opens his eyes slowly. When had he even closed them? "You saw that, too?"

Lauren nods. Her hands are shaking. Jason reaches out this time, and touches her hand softly.

Nothing happens.

He takes her hand in his, their palms pressing together.

"That was...weird."

Jason nods emphatically. "Definitely weird."

"So...what was it?"

"Memories...of Rissa." He pulls a notebook out of his bag, suddenly struck with a thought.

"What are you doing?"

"Writing down what they were. I think they were symptoms. Maybe." A glint of hope flashes in his eyes, and Lauren scoots closer to him.

"You think we could figure out what's going on by writing down what all her symptoms are?" Lauren draws a pen out of her bag and hands it to him.

"Well, we can hope, right?" Lauren and Jason share a smile, and Jason's thankful for having someone so understanding. If this had happened when he touched someone else, he probably would've run the other way, screaming.

They start their work.

"Thanks, Lauren. I really think this'll help a lot." They arrive at Jason's house, and it's nearly six o'clock. Lauren looks down at her hands.

There's a silence for a few moments, filled only by the sound of the winter wind, threatening to freeze their ears. Jason notices that Lauren's ears are pink, and her cheeks flushed from the cold. It's quite a fetching look on her.

"You don't have to stay, you know."

"I know. But I want to talk to Larissa."

Jason nods. "So you can find out what's going on inside her head? See what's inside, what we might have missed?"

"Yeah, something like that." Lauren smiles up at him, and squeezes his hand. "It _will_ get better, Jason. I promise." She stands on her tiptoes and kisses him on the cheek. The warmth of it lingers for a few seconds, but Jason knows he won't forget the gesture anytime soon.

He fumbles for his house keys, and after a bit, they step over the threshold into his house.

"Jason? Is that you?" He walks into the living room, toward the strained voice. He catches sight of his mom, and quickly leans down to give her a hug.

"You look terrible, mom. Have you been sleeping at all?" There are dark circles under Miriam's eyes, and it seems like there are more wrinkles defining her beautiful face.

Miriam waves a hand about, brushing off the question. "I'm fine. It's Larissa." She pushes herself up and out of the chair, and heads up the stairs toward Larissa's bedroom.

Jason and Lauren look at each other for a second, then hurry after her.

The door at the end of the hall creaks more than Jason remembers, and the lights seem dimmer. It's very unsettling, but the pair follow Miriam into Larissa's room.

Jason hears Lauren gasp as they enter, and Jason himself has to restrain himself from doing the same. Lauren rushes to the side of the bed, and cautiously takes Larissa's hand in hers. Miriam has closed the door, and is now leaning heavily against it.

Jason kneels across from Lauren, and takes Larissa's other hand. It's shaking something terrible, and Jason finally brings himself to look at her face. All of her features are drooped, like her muscles had all given up, almost like she's...

But Larissa isn't dead. He can feel her pulse beating rapidly beneath his fingers. Her mind isn't with them. She isn't responding to anything Lauren is saying. And Lauren is talking fast and loud, trying to get through to Larissa.

Nothing is happening.

And still, Lauren talks and gently massages Larissa's hand.

But nothing is happening. Nothing is changing; Larissa is still shaking, and it's spreading to the rest of her body. Her legs have started now.

Jason turns back to his mother. "How long has she been like this?" There are tears in Miriam's eyes, ones that haven't yet fallen. She'd long ago learned not to cry. Especially not in front of the children. She crosses her arms and rubs them, instead.

"Since this morning. She started throwing up at school...and I came up to give her some crackers this afternoon..."

"Where's father?"

Miriam freezes.

"Mom? Where's father? Why isn't he here?"

Miriam shifts the weight on her feet. "He...he's not here."

"I know that, mom. Why isn't he here? Why? He should _be here_. With _us._"

Miriam looks around the room frantically, as if trying to find some way out of this conversation.

"_Mom._" Jason stands up, and looks her straight in the eyes. "Where _is_ he?"

"Your father...couldn't deal with this. Seeing Larissa like this."

Jason stops and thinks this over for a moment. His face contorts into something quite unpleasant to look upon. Almost inhuman. "You mean...he _left?_"

Miriam is silent.

"You just let him _leave!_ I don't know about you, _mom_, but I think we kind of need him right now."

He comes closer to his mother, and she shrinks a bit under his shadow. Lauren's voice stops for a moment, then continues talking to Larissa at a quicker pace.

"I wouldn't have been able to stop him, Jason. Even if I wanted to. You know that."

"Even if you _wanted to?_" Jason roars. "Why wouldn't you want to? Tell me!"

Miriam remains silent, which makes Jason even more angry.

"Are you meaning you _want _Rissa to die? Is that what you're getting at?"

Miriam says nothing; just lets herself crumble a little, making Jason look twice her size.

He can't _believe_ this, that his mother would really rather just let Larissa _die_, than bother to help her get better. Help her to _heal_. It was his parents' responsibility to take care of them, to make sure they were healthy, and happy. It was their job to make sure they stayed a family. And his mother is letting it all fall to pieces, right in front of their eyes.

Fury in his eyes, Jason raises his hand...

And whips around as Lauren screams. Larissa's shaking all over now; she has lost all control over her body.

She's having a seizure.

Jason's seen them in television shows before, sure, but he's never seen one in real life. And he sure as hell doesn't want to see one now, but here he is. He glares at his mother before telling Lauren to help him get Larissa to the floor, away from anything she might hit.

Miriam's just staring at the scene before her, a blank expression in her eyes that frightens and angers Jason. He raises his voice once more.

"Get out of here! Go! You're not helping!" He has no time to regret yelling at his own mother; he had almost done worse. Miriam slams the door behind her, and Jason hears her heavy footfalls on the stairs.

Getting Larissa to the floor proves to be a challenge; she's shaking uncontrollably, and it's difficult to get a grip on her without letting her fall to the ground. Eventually they manage to make it down there, Lauren placing a pillow gently beneath Larissa's head.

"What can we do, Jason?" Lauren stares at him, a real, tangible fear in her dark eyes.

Jason slumps against the wall, far enough away from Larissa that she wouldn't accidentally pummel him, or herself.

"Nothing. There's nothing we can do. We just wait it out."

In the next days, things calm down. Larissa seems to be in a slightly more stable state, though she is now having constant nightmares, even as she's awake. Lauren stays by her bedside, comforting her and telling her fairly tales in hopes of Larissa responding; Jason is at the computer, looking up diseases and home treatments. With both of their parents now gone, Jason wouldn't be able to get Larissa into a hospital anyway.

Jason has just reached something called "Mucocutaneous Lymph Node Syndrome" on the website (he won't even try pronouncing that), when Lauren calls him into the bedroom.

Larissa is talking in her sleep again, which has become a regular event in the past few days. She keeps mentioning purple elephants that fly; Jason just assumes she's having really odd dreams.

He takes her hand in his, and again, his eyes close without warning. He sees the flying purple elephants above him and Larissa, and soon, a giant black...thing...comes towards them. The thing develops a face, a face that looks like a terrifying mix of a clown on speed and a wookie from Star Wars. They start running, but the monster keeps chasing them, closer, closer...it's almost on top of them. The world is surrounded in darkness, the face spinning around them, cackling maniacally.

Larissa screams.

Jason's eyes snap open, and he rubs her hand frantically as she lets out loud half-sobs, wailing about not being able to see anything. About how the world was black. She won't calm down, and Lauren sits back, eyes wide open, afraid to touch her.

Jason tries to think of the most calming thing he can, something he can talk to Larissa about to try to get her mind to relax.

An ocean.

An ocean with little children running around on the beach, in bright sunlight. Everyone laughing and having fun.

He opens his mouth to start talking, his voice soothing and low, but Larissa has already calmed down a great deal. He's not sure what's going on, and it seems like whenever he touches her, she can perceive what it is Jason's thinking about.

This goes on for about a week, until on Sunday, when Lauren is at the chapel, praying, and Jason is by Larissa's bedside, it starts up again. Larissa, in a waking nightmare yet again, speaks nonsense in a quiet voice. Her voice gets louder over the course of the hour, rising to screams and shouts. She still isn't making any sense, but whenever Jason touches her, he pulls away quickly, frightened of the images she's seeing.

Jason keeps telling himself the visions aren't real, and once Larissa starts convulsing again, he finally convinces himself that he needs to get over his own fears, and help Larissa, if he can. There's something about him that lets him "telepathically" connect with people if they touch him.

They've moved her to a larger bed, so she wouldn't roll off of it when she has her fits, and it's helped a lot. Still, Jason keeps a close eye on her every time it happens.

He takes her hand again, Jason's shaking almost as much as hers from fear. His eyes close, and he gasps as he sees the swirl of colors and various demons and villains from old fairy tales, disfigured into grotesque and horrifying creatures. He hears Lauren enter the room, and there is a silence before there's a resonant _thud _on the floor.

Jason ignores it.

It takes almost all of his energy to conjure up something calming and happy amidst the illusions, and the physical strain of holding on to Larissa while maintaining a strong hold on her mind is threatening to break him.

Jason eventually brings up the memory of their family, happy, in the early years of their lives. He feels Larissa's shakes settle a little, and as Jason continues the thought of the memory, she lowers her voice slightly, though she still sounds scared.

But something isn't right. This isn't like the other times, where Larissa would take well over five minutes to calm down.

Larissa isn't moving anymore.

Jason opens his eyes slowly, and realizes that Larissa's hand is limp. He drops it, and stares at her blankly.

"Jason?"

His hopes soar as he takes her hand again.

"Yes, Rissa, it's me, it's Jason..."

"Jason?" The voice is clearer now. Jason stops. "How is she, Jason?"

He lets out a sharp breath. Lauren has woken up.

Jason reaches a trembling hand toward Larissa's neck as Lauren comes up behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder. He feels for Larissa's pulse.

Nothing.

Tears start sliding freely down Jason's face, and soon enough his body is wracked with sobs. Lauren wraps her arms around him, pulls him away from the bed and his sister and onto the floor, and Jason clings to her as if there's nothing else left in the world to hold on to.

This wasn't supposed to_ happen_; Larissa was supposed to get _better_; they were supposed to _cure_ her, and they were supposed to end up_ happy_. Happy again. Like they were before.

This wasn't how it was supposed to end.

Three days after Rissa died, I ran away from home. I left everything but money I'd taken from father's bank account (he'd always trusted me to be responsible with his money), some clothes, and a few personal items. I took a plane to Germany, far away from our house in New Jersey, where I became an illusionist at the Munich Circus.

People showed great interest and amusement in my talent, though none of them could comprehend the consequences my "gift" came with. It was impossible for me to even be near people anymore, without hearing what they were thinking, or seeing their memories.

So I kept mostly to myself, communicating with the audience, naturally, and other circus members only when I deemed it necessary.

I picked up German quick enough, though all I really needed to know was the basics, like "food," and "bathroom," and "yes" and "no." As I said, I kept to myself.

A circus was a good place for me at the time; I could disappear into the world of the fantastic, of the mysterious, where no one would recognize me. Where _I_ wouldn't recognize anyone. I just wanted to be alone. And the folks there respected my privacy, for the most part.

For five years I remained in Munich. And I was as close to happy as I could be.

There was someone there, though. Someone who decided to barge in on my personal life in my third year there. I was seventeen. He was blue and fuzzy, and looked like a demon, which unsettled me, especially after my experience with Rissa.

He called himself the Incredible Nightcrawler, otherwise known as Kurt Wagner. I had to struggle to understand his German.

"You are Jason, are you not?"

"English?" I desperately hoped he spoke English, even though I didn't really want to talk to anyone.

He shook his head. "No, sorry. You seem to know German well enough."

"Only a little." My German was strained, and full of disjointed sentences and forgotten words.

"You are Jason, the one they call Mesmero?"

"Yes."

"Your gift is very amazing. The audience finds it to be a great treat."

"Thank you." I wished this guy would just go away.

He cocked his head slightly, and looked at me for a few moments, studying me.

"What is your secret?"

This took me by surprise. "What?"

Wagner shrugged. "Everyone in the circus has a secret. It seems to be a requirement."

"What's your's then?"

"Everything I do, the teleportation, the way I look, everything. It is all real. The rest of the circus does not know this."

"Huh." I didn't expect that. Interesting, though. "Are there others like you?"

"Not exactly. I have heard of and seen others with extraordinary powers, though. None quite like the one you have. Your gift is real, I take it?"

I hesitated.

"Yes."

"You do not consider it to be a gift." It was more of a statement than a question.

"No."

"Why is that?"

I didn't want to discuss this. It was too uncomfortable, and too soon to tell anyone.

But I told him anyway.

"I lost someone."

"Someone close?"

"Yes, my sister."

"I am sorry. I too, have lost someone. Someone I have difficulty remembering at times."

"Who's that?"

"My mother. But it is a comfort to know she is still alive, that someone out there looks like me."

"I suppose." I didn't like to talk about mothers. Mine abandoned me, even though I'd been getting letters full of half-hearted attempts to get me to come home.

There was an uncomfortable silence, in which I tried to hint at Wagner to go away by narrowing my eyes in the dark. Apparently he didn't notice, as he remained friendly. Maybe he was just trying to be polite.

"You are not alone, Jason."

"My name's Mesmero. And I am alone. We're all alone."

Wagner looked at me sadly before standing up to leave.

"I hope you won't always feel that way, Jason."

I glared at him, and he disappeared off into the darkness.

I couldn't stay here. Not anymore, when people would dig into my life, uninvited.

I packed my things, and glanced at an address my father had sent me the year before in a letter. It was in New York.

Xavier's School for the Gifted.

Father said that man, Xavier, might be able to help me.

I arrived at the mansion on the 31st of August, 1989. I was nineteen years old. It was one of the last days of summer, but it was humid, as it always was on the East Coast, and that made it feel warmer than the actual temperature of 85 degrees.

I had to remind myself to use Fahrenheit rather than Celsius. I wasn't in Germany anymore.

My voice had a lilt to it that would make it hard for them to understand me.

Charles Xavier understood me well. Too well.

I was met at the front door by Xavier, sitting in a wheelchair, surrounded by a few of his students. I hadn't expected him to be in a wheelchair. I think it was the strength of his voice on the phone; it didn't mesh well with the sight of a crippled man.

"Hello, Jason." Xavier stretched out a hand towards me.

I flinched at the use of my given name, as I was not called Jason often in the past five years, but nonetheless I took his hand. He had a firm grip; another surprise.

"Hello, Professor."

"Please, call me Charles."

But I never did. He was always Xavier to me after that. I was never sure why. I think I'd grown wary of calling people by their Christian names.

So I started classes at the mansion, was introduced to a bunch of strangers I didn't really care to talk to, and they tried to make me feel normal. Human. But I wasn't, no matter how much they tried to provide that illusion through isolation and "higher learning." None of us were normal.

We were taught to embrace those without our "gifts," but whenever we ventured outside, we always had to be under adult supervision. I wasn't used to this, not after Munich, and I often managed to leave late at night, and see what the real world was like.

That was a mistake, but one that granted me knowledge of how the world works, and how to survive in it.

It was impossible for mutants to be normal.

So I stopped pretending. I was thankful to Xavier for helping me control my powers, but his biggest mistake was teaching me to block other telepaths from entering my mind. I learned to control who and what I would perceive images from.

Eventually I developed my powers enough that it became an almost unconscious thing, to have a permanent block in my mind. I learned that not only could I force illusions on other people, but I could control what they do.

This was all on my own time. Xavier strongly advised me not to use my powers for harm, but I couldn't see the harm in helping people who were depressed or angry to overcome their feelings, and lessen their pain.

I had honestly thought I was doing a good thing.

One day, Xavier took me aside at the end of math class.

"Jason. I need to speak to you."

I sat back down in my desk, turned away from him. I knew what this was about.

"I'm just trying to help them, professor."

Xavier sighed. He came around to where I was, so I was facing him.

"Jean said that you ran across some non-mutants the other day in the park. They taunted you and Mortimer, and you caused them to see things."

"They were being jerks. They got what they deserved."

"They ran off, screaming. And this is what happened to them." Xavier held up a newspaper. One of the smaller articles was about two boys who were just admitted to the mental facility in the city.

Jean Grey was always a teacher's pet.

"You need to learn to control your anger, Jason."

"It's a popular theory," I spat out.

Xavier paused. I'm pretty sure he was surprised by my sudden lack of respect for him. I'd always been a good student. Well, by then I'd learned all I needed to know.

"Who are you angry at?"

"Nobody."

"That's not true. We both know that."

Xavier was trying to play the shrink. Well, at least he hadn't gotten through to my thoughts yet.

"You're angry at your mother, aren't you. For abandoning you and Larissa."

I froze.

"How did you know that?" I knew he couldn't have gotten that from my mind; I had practiced with him too often to let him slip in. I would've known.

Xavier turned his chair around and faced the window, looking out into the sunset.

"But you're not angry at your father. That's what intrigues me so, Jason. Your father abandoned you far more often than your mother did. In fact, your mother only left because you threatened to hurt her. You almost did."

My head was spinning. How...?

The thought struck me suddenly.

"She told you, didn't she?"

"Yes, Jason. Your mother was worried about you, and so was your father. They both contacted me about your 'condition,' as William prefers to call it. So why are there no hard feelings between you and your father, Jason?"

He turned around.

"Jason?"

I closed the door behind me, and set to packing once again.

The white house in Princeton was ramshackle, with peeling paint and broken shutters.

I smiled. She was broken. The family had fallen apart; it was all her fault, and now she was paying the price.

I opened the front door, and ran my hand down the splintered woodwork in the hallway. It dug into my skin, causing little spikes of pain to go through my arm, blood to flow from the wounds and onto the cream-colored carpet, spotless until the red drops hit the floor. It made a nice, crooked pattern.

Interesting.

Intriguing.

Unpredictable.

I preferred life to be like that.

Entering the living room, I shook my hand, letting the droplets fly, hitting various family portraits and furniture, staining them.

Red was always my favorite color.

I picked up one of the pictures, staring at the family that was smiling happily at me. Miriam looked the most pleased of all, posing like she owned the family, like she was their queen. Like she could control how others perceived them.

That illusion dissipated a long time ago for me.

Her face sickened me. I felt like I was going to retch. My brow furrowed, and I smashed the picture against the stupid little china dolls on the mantle, breaking both the dolls, and the glass in the photograph.

I felt a little bit better after that.

But there was something else I was there for.

There were footsteps on the stairs, and I turned around in the middle of the room, waiting.

"Who's there? Lauren, dear, is that you?"

It was Miriam. Perfect.

She walked into the room, and stopped short.

"Jason."

She sprang into motion, embracing me warmly.

Again, the feeling of being deathly ill hit me. I shrank away from her, snarling.

Miriam looked shocked. Father came in at that moment, followed by Lauren coming in the front door. Lauren came forward quickly and kissed me.

"Jason! You're back!"

I looked to my father.

"Son. It's good to see you again."

There was a look in his eyes that I didn't recognize. Anticipation.

"Quite." I glanced back toward Miriam, who was still standing there, mouth hanging open like a fish.

"You left us, Miriam. You left us in our time of need."

Miriam blinked. "What?"

"Why did you leave us, Miriam? Your daughter needed you."

"I – I..." She didn't know what to say. Of course. She was always stupid, for all her education.

"You let her die, Miriam."

There was fear in her eyes now, as if she knew the inevitable was coming. But she didn't know what was coming. No, she wouldn't be able to comprehend that. Not with her tiny little mind.

"Jason, what are you talking about?" Lauren put a hand on my arm. I shook it away. "It wasn't her fault. She was scared."

"So were you. But you didn't leave, did you, Lauren?" I turned to her; looked her in the eyes. She gasped and backed away.

"What, Lauren? Am I frightening you?" I chuckled. "There's a little thing called retribution. Father told me about it, how people received...retribution for their actions, during the war."

They were confused. All of them.

Good.

I closed my eyes and spread out my arms, feeling the power of hallucination leaving my body and reaching the room. I heard my father leave the room, locking the door behind him. Lauren ran up the stairs.

Miriam remained, entranced, by the images I was showing her. The images of her dearest daughter, suffering, dying, in front of her eyes, as seen by me. The images her daughter saw before she died. The horrific things we both experienced didn't faze me now.

To me, they were beautiful. Works of art.

To Miriam, however...well. They were quite different.

I could barely hear Miriam's screams as I concentrated on releasing the images from my mind, cleaning it out. The screams were just noise in the background. There were frantic footfalls around me, and I heard the back door open, close, open, and close again.

She was still screaming.

There was a new sound, one that was pleasing to my ears. I opened my eyes, seeing the illusions amidst Miriam. She was holding father's power drill.

Her eyes were wide, and she kept mouthing nonsense, talking to nobody. I grinned and thought of images more forceful, more frightening.

I could see my father, out of the corner of my eye, peering – horrified – through the window.

Miriam brought the machine to her head.

Everything stopped.

The only sound left was the turning of the drill.


End file.
